


The Commander's Room

by TheEvangelion



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alpha Lexa (The 100), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, BDSM, Canon BDSM, Commander Lexa, Dom Lexa, Dom/sub, F/F, Impact Play, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Play, Omega Clarke, Praise Kink, Punishment, Rope Bondage, Spanking, Sub Clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 13:54:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14190426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEvangelion/pseuds/TheEvangelion
Summary: There is a room in the Polis tower more sacrosanct than the throne itself. It’s the place where Clarke finds herself no longer a leader, a woman with responsibilities, with life and death on her shoulders, but rather just a willing prisoner beneath the commander‘s most intimate orders. After the Commander has been away for some weeks, Clarke finds herself wrapped tightly around one secret in particular, a secret that Lexa is intent on unravelling through any means necessary. [BDSM/Impact Play/Rope-Play Meets Canon Universe]





	The Commander's Room

The rope has her wrists taut and long towards the ceiling, has her breasts exposed and her belly pushing outwards with the effort to stay on her toes. It’s the calloused hand down her spine that makes her breathe again, that has Clarke drawing a long breath in the realisation that she had stopped inhaling all together.

“Good girl, you’re doing well,” the commander praises with a soft whisper.

She wants to unmake herself into clay, wants to be soft and malleable between her heda’s rough hands. And in that regard, Clarke hungers for her commander in all of the nights that she is away from the city, when she is off soothing the frayed politics of her many lands, when she is away tending to the fires of the world. It’s when the commander is not in residence that being Wanheda becomes a crown that Clarke cannot take off, a heavy thing on top of her head that keeps her neck sore and her sleep rare.

So many decisions.

So little room to breathe.

So few moments to be human and fallible.

In their private quarters, in the holed up rooms that have became their home, Lexa makes all of those problems disappear with nothing more than the loftiness of her shoulders and the dominant flex of her jaw. The soft leather belt in her hand usually helps, granted. But Clarke could make do with just the skin and bones of her heda if she had to, they were more than enough to make the troubles of being a leader, a decision-maker, dwindle away into a quiet nothingness.

“Now,” Lexa stirs Clarke from her daydreaming, “The ambassador from Azgeda. You dismissed him from his post and sent him home?”

Clarke listened to the belt start to become unbuckled and felt herself grow antsy, felt her soft pink nipples begin to stiffen and her cunt hunger for the commander's measured wrath. Lexa prowled around her, lofty and staunch, her warpaint dripping down the sides of her cheeks in to terrifying points. Clarke felt like a strung-up rabbit, an animal of prey that was well and truly caught beneath the stare of this predator. She tugged hard on her bound wrists. It earned the tiniest hint of Lexa’s laugh with the pointless act.

Clarke exhaled a shaky breath, “He didn’t have any interest in the alliance, Heda. I had to show the others that Polis is not to be considered weak when the heda is away…”

Her explanation does nothing to soothe the brooding commander.

“I understand the ambassador was hurt when he finally reached Azgeda. They tell me a broken arm and six ribs, what do you have to say about that?” The commander waited patiently like a displeased teacher.

Clarke strained against the ropes like an unwilling gelding. It was all for show, a little performance she did during these games to maintain her dignity. Lexa soothed her with a brief stroke of her bottom, then a little reassuring hushing noise that had Clarke red with embarrassment.

Clarke slumped and felt herself grow wet.

“Well I don’t know anything about that.” Clarke licked her lips nervously, “he must have tripped?”

“Tripped?” Lexa reiterated.

“Tripped.”

The belt was pulled back and unleashed on her ass with a single hard stroke of leather. Clarke wrapped her hands into the rope above her wrists and pushed forward on her toes, grunting with her teeth gritted tightly.

Lexa adjusted herself calmly and stepped around with slow thuds of her boots. She cupped Clarke’s chin and raised it, allowing herself the slightest of smiles at the tremble of Clarke’s bottom lip.

“I don’t like it when you lie, Clarke,” Lexa warned quietly. “I don’t want to have to do this to you, don’t make me?”

That was a lie right there, Clarke knew as much too. Lexa loved doing this to her. Lexa loved it when she lied. She loved the chase. Loved the measured violence it took to make the truth spill from the curve of her bottom lip. She loved it so much that sometimes Clarke lied just for the sake of lying, just to give the commander a reason to be brooding and furious when they played these games.

“Maybe his horse bucked?” Clarke insisted, her breath still jagged from the last strike of the belt.

“Clarke…” Lexa warned with a raised brow.

“Commander, Heda,” Clarke searched her eyes desperately and bit her bottom lip, “Would I ever undermine your authority while you’re away?”

It makes Lexa smirk.

Lexa tightened her grip around Clarke’s chin and her expression quickly became stoic, displeased even. She reached around and whipped her ass with a sharp twist of her wrist. The crack was loud. The pain sudden. It was all the more delicious in Clarke’s mind because of that, sharp, but delicious. She canted her stomach forward with a whimper and felt the thinnest drop of arousal run the crease of her cunt.

Clarke drew in a breath, “Hear me out, just, maybe, he was robbed? Maybe he got a little too quick-mouthed with the wrong people and they took his things?” Clarke tried to make it believable.

“Quick mouthed with the wrong people?”

“Sure, why not?” Clarke tried.

Lexa flared her nostrils and struck her ass again, harder this time. It made Clarke cry out. It was enough to make her soft nipples stiffen to attention while the rest of her slumped with a defeated grunt of pain.

“We’re getting warmer, Clarke,” Lexa said softly, comfortingly almost. “Did he get quick-mouthed with you?”

Clarke said nothing, just weakly shook her slumped head.

The commander gently lifted Clarke’s chin. Beneath the mirthless warlord stoicism Clarke also saw the deepening arousal. She watched the way it made Lexa’s green eyes soft and hungry. 

“Did the Azgeda ambassador get a little too _quick-mouthed_ with you?” Lexa insisted again with determination for the truth.

“No,” Clarke mumbled and looked away.

The belt struck the soft flesh behind her thighs. The sting made Clarke twist on her tiptoes. Made her cry out and hiss like a wounded animal.

Clarke grew flush with a dark and violent kind of arousal.

“No what?” Lexa tightened her fingers around Clarke’s panting jaw and leaned forward with a darkened stare. “You know better than to be disrespectful, Clarke.”

“No Heda,” Clarke corrected herself and blushed.

Clarke felt the slickness between her thighs grow with each moment. She ached for just the tiniest bit of attention there, enough that it made her push forward in the faintest hopes of grazing her mound again Lexa’s thigh.

Lexa took a step backwards with a tight-lipped smirk and made herself entirely out of reach. It was purposeful. An act of war, almost. It had Clarke chewing her bottom lip and aching all the more.

“Was he rude to you? Is that why you dismissed him from his post and orchestrated his attack?”

 “No Heda,” Clarke groaned again, “I didn’t hurt the Azgeda ambassador. He did not get quick mouthed with me,” she lied.

“You’re lying.”

“You’re beautiful,” Clarke snapped back with a determined stare. “And everything is yours, Commander. Everything here belongs to you. I know that.”

Lexa became offset at the declaration and laughed. And no matter how much she attempted to bite the corners of her lips it was too late for any of that because Clarke had already heard, had already found herself settled and remembering that this was just a game of her own creation and beneath the bravado Lexa couldn't care less about the ambassador’s condition.

It was just a shame Lexa coincidentally chose the fate of that repulsive ambassador as the fuel for tonight’s game.

“You’re really not going to make this easy for me are you, Wanheda?” Lexa sighed and rubbed her cheek ruefully.

“Since when did you enjoy easy, Heda?” Clarke said with a low voice.

Lexa grew stiff and stuck in her own arousal, her eyes closing briefly on the sound of that low-voice. Clarke used it purposefully with the intent of making Lexa hunger the way she hungered, making her ache the way she ached, making her want the way she wanted.

If the glimmer in Lexa’s eyes were anything to go by, it was successful.

“Do you want to play harder?” Lexa offered softly after a brief pause, craning her neck up with a blisteringly hot stare. “Do I have to show you what I do with bad girls, Clarke?”

“I need your absolute worst, Heda,” Clarke replied huskily.

Lexa would make her regret it, Clarke realised too soon and too late simultaneously. She pushed those feelings aside and focused on the sounds that now followed as Lexa walked out of sight, her footsteps echoing around the rear of the bedroom. The cupboards opening. The box being fetched. The contents being laid out on the bed.

“You’ve broken the rules of the alliance, Wanheda,” Lexa warned darkly from behind where Clarke stood bound. The footsteps drew closer, the breath reached the back of Clarke’s neck, the heat of a plump bottom lip drawing down the flat of her shoulder blade. “The hands of a commander are made to break things and put them back together, to make them better, to make them obey. Is that what I must do with you, Clarke? Make you obey?”

Clarke smirked and found herself emboldened, desperate to fill her brooding warlord with a violent sort of desire.

A _need_ to be the most powerful person in the room.

Clarke knew just how to pick at that wound.

“In that case what do you think the hands of a Wanheda were made to do?” Clarke posed the question innocently enough and peered over her shoulder.

“Are you threatening me?” Lexa tensed angrily.

“Just musing, they call me the commander of death for a reason after all.”

The commander grabbed a fistful of blonde hair and pulled until Clarke’s neck was taut and canted. It was rough and a good start in Clarke’s books, enough to unsettle her and earn a nervous gulp.

“How did the Azgeda ambassador find himself attacked, Clarke?” Lexa demanded again.

“I don’t know, Heda,” came the calm and obedient reply.

Clarke winced as her delicate nipple was pinched roughly between two calloused fingers. Lexa squeezed the bud hard, twisting it slowly until Clarke’s wincing turned into hisses. Lexa released it and allowed the warmth to rush back into her breast too quickly, too suddenly. The heat alone made Clarke choke up. Lexa wasted no time and pinched her nipple once again while the flesh was still tender and warm, still sore from the last twist.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Clarke burst as Lexa’s fingers began to twist it again.

The commander paused. Clarke imagined her on the inside to be near-feral with disappointment that she would break this quickly.

Clarke drew in a relieved breath and blinked slowly, “Are you sure the information you’ve received is reliable, Heda? If I wanted to get rid of your ambassador then don’t you think I would be up for the task?”

“You think yourself so...powerful! _”_ Lexa punched out the word in disgust and wrapped a soft hand around Clarke’s throat. She dragged her mouth down the back of Clarke’s hot pink ear, “But here you are naked and tied up in our bedroom like a whore. You’re not a Wanheda here. You are not _mighty_.” Lexa slapped her ass hard.

In her head, Clarke imagined the snarl. She imagined Lexa behind her with lips pulling on one corner of her mouth. She imagined her nostrils flaring. The way her cheeks would grow the slightest shade of pink. 

Those gold-dusted green eyes would burn, burrow, and bleed with hunger. 

Violence would drip from her teeth.

All of it just for Clarke.

The thought of this soft warlord conquering her blood and bones had Clarke trembling.

“Still your favourite though, right?” Clarke whispered softly.

“Always,” came the fast reply.

Lexa released the tight hand around her throat and walked to the bed. Clarke gasped a relieved breath and listened intently, noting the sound of a thin piece of metal clinking in the palm of her hand. It sounded like a necklace of sorts, maybe a bracelet. By the time the commander’s footsteps grew closer, prowling around over the hard wooden floor until she came to a rest directly in front of Clarke.

The item in her hand was in sight.

Clarke gulped.

“So I can keep my hands free,” Lexa explained and fastened the clamps to each of Clarke’s aching nipples. “Though something tells me you will have me pulling on this chain in no time at all, won’t you Clarke?” Lexa gently moved the thin silver chain between each of her breasts.

The teeth of the clamps bite in to the skin unforgivingly. Clarke missed the warmth and tact of Lexa’s fingers immediately. The pain is enough to have her pushing forward, wincing, unable to escape the sting of steel. The whole time Lexa watches her with that stubborn stare, refusing to reach out with soft fingers and graze against the one spot that would dull the pain.

The sting dulls into a warmth all by itself after a few moments, and Clarke finds the will to speak again. “I’ll try my hardest not to?” She offers with a raised brow.

“Please don’t,” Lexa smiled softly.

“Fuck Heda,” Clarke exhaled as a slow and dull burn crept over her breasts, “I’m so wet.”

“I don’t care about that,” the heda replied abruptly and walked back around to stand behind Clarke’s trembling strung-up figure.

Her knees are barely enough to keep her standing, that is the first thought that goes through Clarke’s mind. The next is the feeling of Lexa’s hands softly working their way up the back of her thighs over raised strap marks from the belt. It hurts in the most delicious way possible, makes her whole body sing with the reminder that she is at the mercy of this queen. Her ass cheeks are pulled apart. It has Clarke squirming with embarrassment; her face burning a furious shade of red. She found herself grateful, simultaneously, that Lexa could not see her handiwork.

“Do you know what I do with bad girls, Clarke?”

Clarke knows alright.

“No Heda?” Clarke replies nervously, immersed in the game. 

It makes Lexa laugh.

The next thing Clarke is aware of is the sound of her heda gathering saliva in her mouth. She hears it pool on the tongue, hears the loud spit, feels it drip down her crack and over her quivering asshole. It repulses Clarke how aroused the act makes her.

Lexa cleared her throat, “I use my hands and I make them obey, Clarke.”

Hands move slowly down the ridges of Clarke’s spine. They’re gentle and purposeful, the thumbs burrowing into the hollows between the edges of each vertebrae. It’s a slow, relentless and calm act of war. It has Clarke clenching her eyes closed and gasping into the might of her heda.

And just like that Clarke obeys.

She obeys and leans forward.

She spreads her thighs ever so slightly.

She bites her bottom lip.

She tries her hardest not to buck when tentative fingertips reach the tight hole between her cheeks.

“What happened to the Azgeda ambassador, Clarke?” Lexa tries one last time.

“The who now?”

It didn’t amuse Lexa. It did the exact opposite. A fingertip pressed against her asshole with varying pressure, it pressed hard at first, then released and backed-off gently, then resumed its onslaught again—but only ever dipping barely inside.

“What happened, Clarke?” Lexa asked angrily.

“Nothing!”

The finger pressed inside deeper.

Clarke hissed and tried to escape. She pulled on her wrists at first, then pushed her belly forward. It was useless. Lexa wrapped a hand around her hip and put an end to her attempts quickly.

“Can you feel me inside of you, Clarke?” Lexa used that empty tone reserved for politics and inched the fingertip a little deeper inside her bottom.

“He deserved it!” Clarke burst and allowed her tightly-wound restraint to finally snap.

“He deserved it?”

“Can’t we leave it at that? I did it. He deserved it!”

The finger is pushed deeper through the clench of her rim, exploring her, sliding inside of her. It’s too dirty. Too naughty. Too unusual a sensation. Clarke has never done this before. It burns and it aches and it renews her until she is just a moth beating too close to the light of her own arousal.

The commander is inside of her ass.

Lexa is fucking her ass.

It has her crying out with reckless abandon.

It has her needing soft fingers rubbing and working her aching cunt.

“Tell me what happened, Clarke,” Lexa persisted.

“I can’t!” Clarke protested desperately.

It earned another little thrust of the heda’s middle finger.

“Commander, heda, please, I can’t tell you,” the words fall out her mouth desperately.

A hand snakes around and gives a good, short, sharp tug on her nipple clamps.

“Heda!” Clarke cries out.

“Just let the truth come,” Lexa soothes and slips her hand down Clarke’s belly. 

The hand moves lower and lower, brushing over her stomach, over the soft patch of blonde hair on top of her mound, slipping around her thighs, teasing her. 

Clarke wouldn’t last much longer no matter how much she wanted to keep the secret for both their sakes.

“Tell me what happened, Clarke,” The commander ordered, her fingertips grazing around her clitoris.

The hood is pulled back gently.

Clarke is done for.

“Fuck!” Clarke cried again and felt her whole body shudder.

Fingertips slip through her vulva and gather her thin wetness. They dip down, caressing every delicate inch of her cunt. It has Clarke stuttering, fumbling, her breath completely jagged and off-beat. 

The fingers came back up swiftly and circled her clitoris again, so softly this time that Clarke strained forward hard enough to make her shoulders burn against the tightness of the rope.

“You will tell me.”

“Please,” Clarke tried.

“Don’t you want to be my good girl?”

“I _am_ your good girl,” Clarke grunted. 

Lexa withdrew from her clitoris and twisted inside of her bottom deeper. 

“I...can’t!” The words fell out her mouth between sobs, “Lexa! Please!”

She imagined Lexa soaking. Clarke could almost see the way it would smear and glisten inside her strong thighs beneath the candlelight, just _begging_ to be taken care of. There wasn’t a sight more beautiful in Clarke’s mind than her heda naked and wet just for her. It was what she got off too when the heda was far away, the way it feels to take her clothes off and strip her burdens sleeve by sleeve, inch by inch, item by item, until Lexa is nothing more than a shuddering belly and two slack thighs.

Hot spit hit her asshole again. Another finger began to press against her rim in tandem with the other. Suddenly the thought of her heda soft and naked, cumming on her fingers, had never been further out of reach.

“I don’t think I can,” Clarke burst and squeezed her thighs together, uselessly.

“Then you know what you need to do… I won’t ask you again, Clarke.”

The second finger began to stretch her burning rim wider.

“He said you were weak!” Clarke practically screamed.

There was a pause, a careful and thoughtful pause.

Clarke clenched her eyes closed.

The room became silent and cool.

“He said I was weak?” Lexa clarified, surprised.

Clarke hung her head and nodded.

“And you thought sending him away and attacking the Ice Nation would remedy that situation?”

Clarke could practically hear the commander furrowing her brows.

“It wasn’t like that...”

“Then tell me exactly what it was like?”

Clarke gasped as the chain between her breasts was taken with a hard pull. “He didn’t say it in front of the others, Heda,” she grunted.

Lexa stopped immediately, suddenly aware.

Clarke opened her eyes on the sound of footsteps and watched the commander prowl around to face her. There was a furrow in her brow. Her jaw slack. Fury and confusion in her eyes, but mostly shock.

“He told you I was weak in private?”

Clarke nodded shamefully.

Lexa exhaled and closed her eyes, “Because he wanted you to lead a coup against me and take the coalition with Ice Nation’s support...” she said with a knowing sigh and rubbed her temple.

Clarke peered up, “Nobody makes red look as good as you, I couldn’t let him get away with suggesting otherwise.”

“They wanted you to kill me and lead the coalition,” Lexa tried to make the words make sense in her head, nodding and then looking off to the ceiling.

“I could have killed him,” Clarke looked up. “I wanted to. I didn’t though.”

“Azgeda,” Lexa cradled her headache in two hands. “They wanted you usurp me.”

“I only thought about doing it once before I went after him.”

“Clarke!”

“Fine, twice.”

“You aren’t funny.”

“No?”

“No.”

“I didn’t know what else to say,” Clarke frowned. 

“They wanted you to kill me! To take a knife to my throat while I lay asleep in my bed and end my life at your own hand!” Lexa suddenly slammed her hand on the table.

“They will always try to do that! I am the Heda’s and they will _always_ try to use that against you.”

“You’re not calming me down, Clarke.” Lexa shot a warning look.

 “I know it was selfish but I made a decision. I decided not to tell you tonight because I have had to live without you for four weeks. Four weeks, Lexa. I would have told you tomorrow, I really would have but tonight?” Clarke chewed her lip, “I needed _my_ commander. I needed the whole world to go away so the only thing left for her to command is _me_...”

Lexa blinked, then a sigh followed. “I was trying to be angry,” she reiterated with a gulp.

“Then use your hands, and your teeth, and be angry with me? Let the rest of it wait until tomorrow?” Clarke whispered.

“Is that how you’re planning on soothing my bruised ego?”

“All night, just please take it out on me. Let me be a thing that belongs only to you.”

Just like that Lexa strode towards her. Clarke never lost her eyes, not for a moment. They burned into her naked skin with that dark stare used on battlefield fronts and tall balconies. Her heartbeat quickened, she felt it thud into her ribs and reverberate around her body. In that single moment Lexa became a verb, an action, a doing word. A thing for Clarke to pain her entire life with until her commander is seared into every moment of being.

Lexa was closer now, she reached out towards her slick mess. Clarke eagerly opened her legs and pushed up on her toes, allowing the commander leverage.

“They tried to weaponize you against me,” Lexa growled, grabbing the swollen flesh. “That should have been the first thing you said as soon as I arrived home. Before I arrived home. You _should_ have told me, Clarke,” she grunted and slapped softly with the palm.

“I’m sorry!” Clarke cried out responsively.

Lexa kissed her neck, kissed the skin along her collarbone and settled teeth against the ball of her shoulder. She picked Clarke up and sat her thighs around each sturdy hip. Clarke found herself grateful for it, the pressure pulling on her shoulders immediately dissipated as the rope became slack. The palm between her legs became loving and soft, rubbing and coaxing her arousal.

“I forgive you,” Lexa whispered, wrapping her arm around the small of her spine. “You are forgiven. This is just a lustful game, do you understand? I don’t want you to think this is punishment or that I’m angry, just a game.”

 It comforted Clarke.

“You play it so well,” Clarke replied huskily and leaned for a kiss.

She nibbled and gobbled Lexa’s bottom lip, pushed forward just a little bit further until the hollows of her heda’s warm mouth were there and sweet. Lexa kissed her back tentatively at first, she pressed tiny kisses against Clarke’s chin in between the big ones where her tongue was made to dance in rhythm.

“You are mine,” Lexa hissed. By the time Clarke opened her eyes, the heda in front of her was struggling and flush, aroused and untempered, her teeth hanging over the edge of themselves. “You belong to me!”

Two fingers push inside of Clarke’s cunt with no resistance. It has her crying out and wrapping her thighs tight around the small of the commander’s spine.

“Tell me who you belong to?” Lexa seethes into her throat, fucking her harder.

Her whimpers are raw.

Guttural.

She cannot breathe.

It comes in staggered, jagged, gasping gulps.

The fingers inside of her curl and twist and thrum against that one spot.

“The commander!” Clarke cried, “I am yours, all yours, only yours, Heda.”

The commander strikes her ass hard. The sting hits her like a whole season of thunder. Clarke wanes, slumping on her warlord’s strong shoulders with both of her arms.

“You are _mine_ , Clarke,” Lexa paints those words angrily into the skin, her breath searing the shoulder, her teeth nibbling. “The thought of them trying to poison you against me…” she growls out, the words lose themselves.

“It’s you and me.” Clarke grabbed her warm cheeks roughly. “ _You and me._ ”

The commander smirks between her palms.

The fingers curl harder.

The breath catches in Clarke’s throat.

Knuckles become white.

“It’s you and me,” Clarke pants again.

You and me.

She sears their quiet life behind these doors with that one sentence, because no matter how hard the world outside tries; they will not take her from her commander’s side. It’s them. It has always been them. It will always be them. They will never touch Lexa. Clarke gasps and clenches her eyes closed.

“Look at me,” Lexa says, dragging her nose. Clarke feels a warm mouth softly kiss her, feels teeth settle into her bottom lip. It makes her crack her eyes wide open.

“You never even considered it,” Lexa whispered with a tight smile, certain of the fact.

It offended Clarke. Had her eyes flitting in Lexa’s direction with that quiet fury, that dangerous quiet fury that is enough on its worst days to shake democracies to their ancient roots.

“Of course I didn’t,” Clarke said and simultaneously lost her fury on another curl. It had her gasping, had her crying out and panting into her commander’s neck.

Lexa allowed a hint of a smile as Clarke came undone with tight ankles behind the spine.

“It’s a strange feeling.”

“What is?” Clarke grunted. Now was a strange time for small talk, the fact didn’t go missed upon her. But she still asked, still opened her fading eyes to search for the answer.

“Feeling safe, like this with you.”

It makes Clarke laugh briefly between cries and whimpers. In a world intent on destroying itself, from a tin can stuck in a breathless permanent night to a life of duty and endless-death, just a tiny bit of safety was enough to make it bearable, enough to get them through tomorrow.

“Show me your fealty,” Lexa said, her breath hot against the ear. “Come undone. Be my good girl and do as commanded, do what my hands tell you to do.”

Her cunt grows tight on the words. Her breath is lost to a sob of guttural pleasure. Lexa’s teeth find her aching nipples. They graze and nibble and Eventually, they suck, and Clarke cannot focus her flitting eyes.

Her mighty commander goes to war with her body.

Fingers curling.

Knuckles deep against her.

Thumb rubbing her clit.

Palm resting into her mound.

Clarke falls on her battlefield.

She cannot get back up.

“I’m, I’m.” She cannot say anything else.

“Good, that’s it just give it to me.” Lexa kissed her closed eyelids and fucked harder, deeper, intent on ripping the orgasm out of her. There was a tandem gentleness to it, a kiss against the cheek and careful fingernails on the spine.

It comes in waves. Clarke’s knuckles become white on the shoulder, the pressure relentless and unforgiving with each raw burst of thunder through her body. Her whimpers become grunts, her grunts become cries, shouts, sobs, screams.

Loud and satiated.

That is what becomes her.

The dust settles over their war ground. Clarke is barely conscious for it, the exhaustion hangs over her in thin invisible webs. Lexa’s soothing hushes, that is the first thing her brain registers after the gunpowder becomes hot soot. An arm remains around the small of her spine, it stops her from falling down and making the rope tight again. The other strains for the knife sat low on the commander’s thigh.

“You and me,” Lexa says it comfortingly, soothing those words into her tired skin as the sound of steel teeth sawing through the rope serves as static to Clarke’s ears.

Clarke weakly nods and makes an attempt at gathering herself.

“Stop,” Lexa grunts, unhappy with the jostling. The rope splinters and loosens around Clarke’s wrists until they’re finally free and sore. Lexa does not put her down, instead she begins the slow awkward walk towards the bed with Clarke curled around her, over her, slack on her shoulders, still.

“Good girl,” Lexa whispers calmly, out of breath. Clarke is thrown forward on to the sheets and Lexa quickly follows, flopping on top and kicking her boots off on to the floor.

“I can’t breathe,” Clarke grunts and manages a tired giggle.

Lexa only burrowed deeper, refusing to roll of her stomach and chest. “Don’t care,” she replied.

“Is this how we sleep now?” Clarke tried to shift.

“How else will I be know you’re unarmed,” Lexa teased and inched up, smirking. Her eyes squinted against the efforts of her lip-locked mouth. Suddenly she wasn’t so foreboding or warlord-ish anymore, Clarke decided.

“I love you, idiot.”

“I know. Get some sleep.”

“You don’t want to…?” Clarke slipped her eyes down towards the buttons of Lexa’s pants.

“No not tonight,” Lexa replied and pushed up onto her knees. She pulled the shirt off her head, then undone her pants and made ungraceful work of kicking them off her legs. “Being…untended to,” she chose the words carefully and found Clarke’s eyes. “It helps me be furious.”

“And you _want_ to be furious?” Clarke gave a narrowed stare.

Lexa flopped down and plumped pillows, drew blankets over them both, made herself entirely tame and domestic beside Clarke. “I have Azgeda to deal with tomorrow. Ice must be fought with fire, I’ll take what I can get,” she grumbled as a nest of blonde hair found her chest.

“Have it your way, Commander.”

“I always do.”

 

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